Waking Up 2: Progress
by wth18
Summary: Sequel to Waking Up. Although Harper thinks his nightmares are over, he comes to realise that they have only just begun. Still a BtVS pastiche, ust goes a little further.
1. Chapter 1

Title: **Waking Up 2: Progress  
**Author: hannahthewriter  
Rating: R (15)  
Warnings: Strong language, sexual references, drug use and one scene containing violence. (Phew, I'm hanging onto this R-rating by a thread!)  
Summary: Sequel to Waking Up. Harper's nightmares are far from over.  
Spoilers: None  
Archive: Ask please, just 'cause I want to know where it goes!  
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one in this story except for Dino. It is my own work. Don't sue me.  
A/N: For part 1, clicky here

**Chapter 1**

_"It takes the average human seven minutes to fall asleep, but, according to_ Hand's Human Physiology_, it takes the same average human fifteen to twenty minutes to wake up, as if sleep is a pool from which emerging is more difficult than entering."_

- From Stephen King's _Pet Sematary. _

Seamus Harper lay flat on his back, squinting in the half-light, with a soldering wand in his hand and a flexi between his teeth. Every so often he would remove the flexi and consult the specs, surreptitiously removing saliva from the bite-marks with his thumb. This was like a ritual to him, for he had done it so many times. He had often thought that one day he would learn the art of sleep-fixing and do all this whilst unconscious, leaving the rest of his time for leisure, which in Harper's life consisted of beer or Sparky Cola and films featuring women in bikinis. But until that day, he would be stuck in this conduit, with a tool in his hand and the slightly acidic taste of the flexi in his mouth. He sighed and reached for the bottle of amber-brown liquid at his side, tipping it to his lips and savouring the last few drops as they trickled into his mouth. He wasn't supposed to be drinking whilst working, particularly not alcohol, but who was there to see?

'Anyone in here?' Beka called, standing in front of the entrance and cutting out any light that might have once been seeping in. Harper sighed in disgust.

'Nope!' he yelled back.

'Then who's that shouting?'

'Just a harmless dust-bunny, now move along, people; there's nothing to see here! Especially since it's pitch-black.'

'OK, Mr Dust-Bunny, but if you see Harper tell him that there's a short-circuit somewhere so we've had to resort to setting fire to his shirts for light on decks three to six.'

'Will do,' he replied, then a thought crossed his alcohol-addled brain and he frowned. 'You're setting my shirts on fire? Are you crazy?'

Beka sighed. 'You may be a… uh… "freakin' genius", Mr Harper, but you're pathetic at lying. Have you been drinking?'

'No… I'm completely shober,' he replied. _Damn!_

'Hey, if you're looking for my point, Harper, it's that thing you just proved,' she sighed again. 'Now, are you gonna fix these lights or not?'

'Nah, I just thought I'd sit in here for two hours straight because I find it helps my posture,' he snapped back. 'There's a short-circuit somewhere here and I'm trying to find it even though it's as bright as a Nightsider's brain in here. Did I mention that you're not helping?'

'No.'

'You're not helping.'

'Right,' she replied. 'Well, we're sitting in the dark out here, and Tyr keeps punching big holes in the wall. But you take things at your own speed, Roadrunner.'

'Beep-beep,' he muttered distractedly, and with a final twist of a wrench three decks of the Andromeda were suddenly flooded with light as two ends of slim copper wire connected with a tiny spark. Harper yelped and scrabbled at his eyes as the conduit flooded with light. His pupils shrank almost to the size of pinheads, but it wasn't fast enough. Tiny white spots danced in front of Harper's eyes and he felt a nastily familiar stinging sensation at the back of his head, like someone had grabbed the top of his spinal chord and was twisting it viciously. This was more than too much light at once; there was something really wrong in Seamus Harper's world. And suddenly he saw…

_White tiles, people in white coats talking holding clipboards with white paper and holding white pens._

_Cold metal pressing against his skin with adhesive pads attached to his temples and the buzzing of a machine mixed with a beeping sound._

Spinning down and being plunged into darkness whilst someone screamed his name from a million miles away and then… nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_"He's on the beach now, a toe in the water. He's asking you to come in with him. He's been racing his mother up and down the sand. There's so much love in this house. He's ten years old. He's surrounded by animals. He wants to be a vet. You keep a rabbit for him, a bird and a fox. He's in high school. He likes to run, like his father. He runs the two-mile and the long relay. He's 23. He's at a university. He makes love to a pretty girl named Claire. He asks her to be his wife. He calls here and tells Lara, who cries. He still runs. Across the university and in the stadium, where John watches. Oh God, he's running so fast, just like his daddy. He sees his daddy. He wants to run to him. But he's only six years old, and he can't do it. And the other men are so fast." _

From _Minority Report. _

* * *

At first Beka wasn't particularly concerned. When she first heard Harper's yelp, she simply thought that the sudden light had taken him by surprise, as it had her. She blinked the little white spots away from her vision and squinted into the conduit. Maybe ten metres in, a small body was crumpled, unmoving and unresponsive. Now she started to worry, hell, she flat-out panicked, thinking that Harper had had a seizure or something, and launched herself into the conduit, crawling towards him as fast as was possible on her hands and knees. Friction burned at her palms as her hand scraped across the floor, but she ignored it. It seemed to take hours, but she reached him and touched the engineer on the shoulder. One of his hands had a nasty welt across his palm, where the wrench had conducted the electricity and grown white-hot in a matter of seconds. She gently touched the vicious red and black stripe and whispered, 'Harper?'

He stirred and his eyes flickered open. 'Huh? What? Beka, what just happened?'

'What just happened?' she repeated in a painful screech. 'You just made an attempt to give me a heart attack, that's what! I swear to the Divine, Harper, I'll be completely grey before I turn thirty-five with you around!'

'OK, I get the picture!' he gasped, not knowing whether to calm her down or make fun of her. He sat up painfully, and found his body pressed up against hers. Her cheeks coloured, and he grinned mischievously. 'Want to give me a little breathing room, boss? This conduit ain't big enough for the two of us.'

'Um… sure,' she said. It seemed that the spark of electricity had made Harper red-hot, because she backed off like he'd just had a close encounter with a skunk. It was lucky that he applied such liberal amounts of hair gel every morning, because if his hair weren't already standing up on end, it would be now. She hid a smile at the thought, then the concern came back. Harper was sitting with his back to the wall. He wasn't too badly hurt, apart from his hand, but his expression was troubled and distracted.

He was thinking of what had happened, what he had seen just before passing out, and as always his mind flickered back to that strange psychotic blip he'd had a couple of months ago. He'd been stuck in a delusion that all of this - the Andromeda and the Commonwealth and all his friends - was, well, a delusion. That had freaked him out so much that he had nearly killed Beka, and had actually been convinced that he was in a coma in a psychiatric hospital. Luckily, Trance had discovered a slipfighter full of renegade Than mercenaries, emitting dangerous levels of radiation that had been messing with his head, making him a paranoid delusional, and none of it had been real.

'Harper?' Beka's voice was tense and worried, and he could tell that she was thinking the same thing. He looked up at her, smiling reassuringly, and ignoring that tiny voice that still whispered of unsaid things, deep in the base of his skull, in a place where he could not reach. Even as he was telling Beka that he was fine, the little voice told him he was crazy.

_Crazy my ass_, he hissed back viciously, shaking his head wildly as soon as Beka turned her back and started to crawl out of the conduit. After a few deep breaths, Seamus Harper followed her.

* * *

_Interlude 1: The year of Our Lord 1980 – Boston_

'Seamus, sit still!_' his mother snapped irritably, trying to fix the strange black tie around his neck. Her gentle hands made no impression as she gently pulled the wide end through the loop just below his top button, but though she neither pinched him nor did it too tight, he wriggled impatiently. He had never worn a suit before; they were never really designed for children. He knew that they were going somewhere, and that he would have to stand still for a long time. He didn't want that, he wanted to go out and play in the autumnal leaves, kicking the neat piles into a red-gold cloud and smudge the pristine black suit with thick smears of mud, after-effects of the near-monsoon conditions they had been experiencing. He fidgeted and made unintelligible sounds in his throat, ducking his head down into the shirt-collar and scowling at his mother. She lost her temper and raised a hand to him warningly, her eyes full of disappointment and, he was shocked to see, tears. They both knew that she would never, ever, hit him, not so much as a cuff or a slap on the back of the leg, but he flinched and stood still anyway._

'Don't wanna,' he muttered sulkily. He was young, but the American accent had already started to develop. His mother was American, his father Irish, and he had lived in Boston all his life.

'Don't be so childish, Seamus,' she scolded him, tugging on the end of the tie a little harder than was necessary, venting her rage on the thin strip of black material. Had his mind been fully matured, had he already had the wit that would not kick in for a few years yet, he would have cleverly pointed out that he was still a child. But he was only six years old, and knew no better. 'We have to go to… the church. To see Grandpa.'

Grandpa. A vague figure seen only a few times every month, who smelt of pipe tobacco and had a deep, husky laugh and thin wispy hair. He sometimes gave Seamus peppermint sweets that made Seamus' mother fret, because they were small and hard and she was worried he might choke. More often than not she would whisk them away and dispose of them later on, but sometimes he could conceal them in the turn-ups of his cuffs and would eat them later on. He could remember every detail of those sweets: the way that they rattled against his teeth, the funny taste that made his mouth cold when he breathed in and the way that they started to taste sickly after he'd had too many. Yet he remembered nothing of the man who had given to him beyond pipe tobacco, a husky laugh and wispy hair. Now they were going to see him again, but Seamus' mother didn't seem happy. Stupidly, Seamus voiced his thoughts in a loud, truthful, childish voice.

'I don't remember Grandpa,' he said. His mother's head snapped up and she looked frail. She stopped sorting out his clothes and grabbed his shoulders. He fancied that it hurt, but really it was as usual: firm but gentle.

'Of course you do, Seamus.' Parents never believed you, not unless you told them you had done something wrong. 'Now don't say anything like that at the f… at the church.' She stopped and breathed deeply, the tears appearing again. 'Honestly, Seamus, you'd forget your own head if it wasn't screwed on!' He reached up nervously to his neck, half expecting to feel the heads of screws and bolts there, like Frankenstein. She saw and laughed through her choked tears. 'It's a figure of speech, Seamus. Just promise you won't ever go forgetting me!_'_

He felt a rush of simple, childlike compassion, and leaned forward to brush her cheeks with his sticky mouth. Afterwards she would retrieve a handkerchief from her pocket and wipe it clean. 'I promise, Mommy,' he said.

* * *

Harper took in a sharp, involuntary gasp, and sat up bolt upright in bed, his skin prickling. He would never have been able to sit up that fast if he had been thinking about what he was doing, but in the depths of his pillow lurked the dream that evaded him, a dream that he couldn't remember but didn't want to go back to. He wasn't crying or anything sappy like that, but he was surprisingly unsettled, and though he punched the pillows and lay back down, he couldn't get back to sleep.

He sighed, more irritated than anything else, and tried to think of alternative entertainment. He had the holo-films with the women in bikinis running in slow motion down very long beaches etc. But he didn't feel like that right now. He suddenly found himself wishing he were back n Earth, something that he had never felt before. The sensation shocked him. On Earth, you could go for long walks in the middle of the night, sure, and you could breathe fresh air, but you also made yourself a target for roaming Magog. You would be better off sticking a sign to your forehead in giant neon letters saying, "Hi, big scary alien dudes, want a potential meal or host for your kiddies? Check me out!"

He lay back down. This was annoying. He stared at the ceiling and drummed his heels on the end of the bed. It was more than wanting to be back on Earth; he wanted to… God, this sounded stupid. He was just glad the others couldn't hear his thoughts. He wanted to play in mud, to swim naked in rivers and streams, to climb rocks like mountains and skin his knees. He wanted to throw snowballs and shout rude words in public places. He wanted to kick and pull hair like a kid in the playground, and to stick his tongue out at people for no reason. He felt a maelstrom of strange thoughts and he didn't know whether to feel elation or concern, or embarrassment. He rolled over, thinking he would be awake all night, but was asleep in a matter of minutes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_"You do not cheat me of my childhood.  
You bring me blankets for the walls of my forts.  
There is no anger with the eyebrows raised.  
When you do the fantastic I am amazed."_

- From _Alone_ by Lisa Loeb.

* * *

'Good morning, Harper!' Trance said brightly, smiling benignly as usual, like nothing in the world could hurt her, as if she felt a need to live up to her celestial, golden appearance. Usually Harper would grin back at her, albeit a little nervously; he had never been as comfortable around Golden-Trance as he had been around Purple-Trance. However, today he didn't even acknowledge her greeting, apart from to stare at her and stick his tongue out. Trance stared back for a moment, then dismissed at as another of Harper's strange habits.

Harper walked into the mess hall and slumped into a chair, his back nearly touching the seat of the chair, and promptly began sucking his thumb, looking like he had no idea what he was doing. He noticed the whole crew gaping openly at him. 'What?'

'Harper… are you feeling alright?' Beka asked cautiously.

'Nah… I want some Coco-Pops,' he whined petulantly.

'Coco… are you sure you're all right? We don't have any… uh… "Coco-Pops". You can have toast if you like?'

'But I want _Coco-Pops!_' He persisted sulkily. Then he seemed to realise he wasn't going to get his own way over this and grinned like he didn't care. 'But toast sounds good too. Yes, please!'

Trance placed a cool hand on his forehead. 'I think he's delirious; he hasn't even asked for a beer yet!' Harper looked upon beer in the morning as his way of fighting "The Man", though he never specified who "The Man" was.

'Beer?' he giggled. 'Then I could get _drunk!_' He lolled back in his chair, with his head drooped over the back and his tongue hanging out in a state of mock-inebriation.

'Uh… I think we're a bit late for that, Trance,' Dylan said, worriedly, but sounding slightly amused. Beka rolled her eyes.

'Very funny, Harper. I think your head was a little bit more damaged yesterday than we thought!' She reached out and ruffled his dishevelled mop of blonde hair playfully. He batted her hands away and pulled a face like he'd just trodden in Magog-shit.

'Yuck! I got touched by a _girl!_' he groaned, pretending to scrub his hair viciously.

'Well… I never thought I'd see the day that Seamus Harper would resent being touched by a girl!' Beka said, flabbergasted and a little offended. He grinned stupidly and kicked her under the table, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make her jump and stare at him like she feared for his sanity. Then his attention span ran out and he looked up hopefully at each crewmember I turn.

'Can I have ketchup on my toast?'

* * *

'Harper? Are you in here?' Dylan asked, stepping into machine shop seven and carefully avoiding piles of scrap metal and food that was turning blue.

'Vroom… Oh, hi, Dylan!' Harper was sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him, one hand flat on the floor supporting him and the other making a model of the Andromeda fly round in circles, occasionally providing the sound effects for vicious missile attacks on a crushed can of Sparky Cola. 'Boom! Haha! Take that, ya smelly nasty people, you suck!'

'Rrright…' Dylan said uncertainly, then dismissed it as another one of Harper's strange fantasy-worlds. 'Well, we arrive on Sinti in three days, and I was just wondering if you'd finished that report on your research into phased density shifting?'

'Nah, bor-_ing!_' he replied, not taking his eyes off of the mini-Andromeda that he had built himself.

'You haven't? But you promised the Perseids at the university that…'

'Don't wanna do any of _that!_' Harper drawled. 'I want to play. Stupid chin-heads can work it out all by themselves if they want to know that badly.'

'But… Harper! You said that you'd much rather talk about your theories with the students than sit through the Commonwealth conferences. You said…'

'I said baloney!' Harper interrupted, giggling. He lifted the model again. 'Vrooooommm!'

Dylan sighed. This had gone way past far enough. He dropped a hand onto the engineer's shoulder. 'Right, I'm confining you to your quarters until you start to make sense. Can you get there yourself or do I have to get Rommie to escort you?'

Harper slapped Dylan's hand away and stood up, his lower lip sticking out pathetically. 'Get off of me! You're _mean_! I _hate_ you!' he yelled, and with that he ran away in the direction of his quarters, his gait slightly clumsy, his legs going in all directions like he wasn't completely in control of them. Dylan stared after him helplessly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_"We are the future,  
The twenty-first century dyslexic glue-sniffing cybersluts,  
With homicidal minds and handguns."_

From _Thin Line_ byPapa Roach.

* * *

Harper sat on his bed with his knees against his chest, picking his nose thoughtfully. He wasn't really sure why he was acting like this, it was just that he was finding stupid things a lot funnier. When he had got back, he had actually put on a kid's animated film and watched it for half an hour before he realised what he was doing.

Without really knowing why, he picked up the remote and flicked the film on again. The cartoon animals raced around in front of him, their flickering forms reflected in the clue of Harper's innocent blue eyes. He settled back into the pillows, watching them. For some reason, the characters were all strange colours; he had never in his life seen a pink cat, a purple elephant, or an orange monkey. The mindless nonsense relaxed him, though; the stupid songs that you could sing along to and never get out of your head surrounded him, thanks to the countless speakers dotted round the room. His lips moved in unison to the words, and he nodded his head slightly.

Harper's eyelids started to droop. He had forgotten his anger, he had even forgotten the humiliation of running away from Dylan like a girl. All he wanted to do now was sleep. His breathing steadied as he slipped into unconsciousness, but the cartoon still played in the background, the animated animals unaware that their antics were going unappreciated. The glow of the hologram gradually faded out as the film ended and the player automatically switched itself off, but Harper still didn't wake up.

* * *

_Interlude 2: North Lauderdale High School – 1990_

Seamus Harper closed his eyes and took a deep drag on the joint, with his chest swelling as the drug filled his lungs, seeped into his brain. Then he let out a steady stream of thick, noxious smoke from the side of his mouth and half-opened his eyes again, feeling a little more relaxed.

'Good shit, huh?' Dino persisted, snatching the joint back like he was worried Seamus might have contaminated it.

'God-damn right it is,' Seamus moaned, stretching the muscles in his neck and rolling over on the rumpled bed to look at his roommate. Dino was sixteen, like him, with grey-brown dreads that just skimmed his shoulders if he tucked his head down. They stuck out a little more than was fashionable, and instead of being carefully braided, Dino had simply decided he couldn't be assed to wash his hair any more, letting it slowly tangle into rats-tails. He had a pierced eyebrow, and a tattoo of a chick wearing a leather bikini whilst sitting on a Harley-Davidson laced across his stomach in garish colours of ink. It was not visible at the moment, though; Dino was wearing his absolute favourite Ramones T-shirt, which was a little ripped on one sleeve and deliberately ripped at his clavicle so that the long-sleeved black shirt he wore underneath was exposed. He was wearing Levi jeans, torn and faded at the knees, that were a couple of sizes too big, and Vans trainers that were scuffed with laces that had been in the same knot for years. Dino had a nice bone structure, and would have been handsome were it not for his scruffy appearance and the way that the dreads hid his face. He also took a deep drag of pot, and spat the smoke out in little rings, something that Seamus had not learned to do yet.

'Fuck!' he said, for no apparent reason, then drummed out a steady beat on his bedside table in time to the heavy metal music in the background. He vibrated his head ever so slightly so that the dreads rattled, and Seamus watched in a kind of stupid awe as Dino picked at a scab on the side of his head.

Seamus had not gone in for dreads. Instead, to his parents' horror, he had dyed his hair a deep, rich blue. It stuck out weirdly because he hadn't brushed it in a long time, and his pale face was slightly tinged with green in certain light from lack of nourishment, too much marijuana and a lot of stress. Many of the girls in their year, and especially those younger than them, found both Seamus and Dino dangerously attractive, and would follow them round in little gangs, giggling into their hands, dressed in matching pink outfits. Seamus Harper and Dino Finster were weirdoes, but they were beautiful weirdoes. The guys didn't really care, though. Girls were OK for a quick shag at parties, but beyond that was a whole realm of commitment and sensitivity that the two were not ready for yet.

Seamus yawned. 'Man, I'd better stop, now. I can't go to biology reeking of eau de marijuana_, dude; that old bitch's gonna know and she'll get the principal on me again.' "That old bitch" was Mrs Walden, the geography and biology teacher. She was about 90 or so, with perpetually pursed lips and hair like a Brillo pad._

_Dino laughed. 'That still kills me, man: you going to classes and giving a shit what goes on in them. Seriously, let her come down on you like a ton of bricks. Then we could join Mike in the juvie.' Mike was Dino's older brother, in an institution for rebellious youths after assaulting a fellow student with a broken bottle._

'Seriously, Dino man, I gotta go!' Seamus insisted, going over to the sink, squeezing the last few globs of toothpaste from the flattened tube onto a brush and frantically trying to get rid of the reek of pot. Dino sighed and rolled his eyes. He lay back and nodded his head in time to the Sex Pistols and sucking on the joint until one of his eyes started twitching and his fingers were in danger of getting burnt by the glow at the end of the roll-up.

'Fine,' he said at last. 'Guess I'd better get to…' he frowned. 'What I got now?'

'Math,' Seamus replied promptly. He had both of their timetables memorised.

'Ah, crap_!' Dino moaned, collapsing back onto the bed. 'Dude, I got conjunctivitis all of a sudden. I'm not gonna be able to go!'_

'Well, shit, Dino, if you ain't going then I can't just leave ya here,' Seamus said, grinning at him.

'Fucking tragedy, dude.'

'Come on, Conjunctivitis Boy,' Seamus sighed, grabbing his friend's hand and dragging him to his feet. While Dino got to his feet, Seamus opened the window to let the smoke seep out, and a rush of air blew into the room, ruffling the posters of half-naked women and rock bands on the wall. He turned back and grinned at his friend.

Seamus Harper was ready for another day of high school. A black band of material, grubby with sweat and almost completely unidentifiable encircled his blue hair, which radiated wildly up in all directions. Whispered rumour decreed that this band was in fact the tie that Seamus had worn at his grandfather's funeral. The more spiteful tongue would point out that it hadn't been washed in ten years. It was tied in a heavy knot at the back, with about fifteen centimetres of stringy, ripped cloth hanging down, the multiple layers peeling back. Just underneath it, attached to his left earlobe, was a small, silver stud, and he had a string of small wooden beads around his neck. There was a small amount of fair facial hair over his chin and cheeks. He was wearing a grubby blue shirt, cuffs and buttons undone, over a T-shirt he had bought at a Dead Kennedys gig, which had threads trailing down here and there. His jeans were black denim, coated in mud at the bottom and just covering the toes of his Doc. Martens. On the sleeve of his shirt was a badge depicting a yin-yang symbol. Seamus had the exact same insignia tattooed on the skin underneath. On his hands he wore a pair of white wool gloves, with the fingers cut off so that he could do delicate tasks without having to remove them. He and Dino dressed alike, but were not stupid enough to dress identically.

One time, a while ago, a couple of moronic jocks started to spread the rumour that Seamus and Dino were gay lovers. The pair had said nothing to deny or confirm the rumours, but a few weeks later they entered a beach party armed with vodka and contraceptives, and disproved to the rumours to about five or six different girls. Seamus smiled at the memory of that party. He remembered the sweat and loud music, remembered tipping vodka into his mouth, before smothering a faceless girl's mouth with his and letting the fiery liquid trickle teasingly through her lips, again, and again, and again. Seamus had allowed himself a small smile of gratification when, a couple of days later, one of the morons that had started the rumour confronted the two punk-rockers in a corridor and accused them of being homosexual. An older girl standing nearby had laughed derisively and said: "Well, if they're gay then someone sign me up for a sex change!"

The two boys left their room, locking it behind them. Both shared a dorm at the school; Seamus because he had an I.Q. of over 150 and his parents wanted him to have a good education, even if it meant being a long way from home, and Dino because his dad had kicked him out of the house and made him board instead. The pair had first met in a detention. Seamus was there because he had asked his ancient, false-toothed History teacher to give him a personal account of what had happened on the Titanic, Dino because he had been caught smoking behind the bike-sheds when he was supposed to be in – surprise, surprise – a detention. Dino had seen Seamus' name on a textbook and had asked him, amused, if that was really his name, pronouncing it 'seem-ass'. He had only quit it when Seamus started pronouncing Dino's name: 'die-no'. They had become friends easily.

They had only gone a little way before a gang of thirteen and fourteen year-old girls started following them, trying to look inconspicuous despite constantly giggling into their hands. God forbid that they would ever be employed in the CIA. The boys allowed themselves to be stalked for a couple of corridors before Dino whirled round suddenly, the dreadlocks whipping across his face, pulled down the shadowy skin under one of his eyes and poked the bloodshot eyeball with one grubby finger to make it move around in its socket. The girls squealed and ran away like they'd just had a tip-off that Sawney Bean was coming for them. Dino and Seamus watched them go, and walked down the corridor, swearing occasionally and punching each other on their arms, middle knuckles protruding slightly. 


End file.
